“You have at least the sympathy of many nations who are powerless to interfere,” Selingman said quietly.  “I read your pamphlet, Mr. Henriote, with very great interest.  Before we leave to-night, I shall make a proposal to you.”

The boy seemed puzzled for a moment, but Stralhaus intervened with some commonplace remark.

“After dinner,” he suggested, “we will talk.”

Certainly during the progress of the meal Henriote said little.  He ate, although obviously half famished, with restraint, but although Norgate did his best to engage him in conversation, he seemed taciturn, almost sullen.  Towards the end of dinner, when every one was smoking and coffee had been served, Selingman glanced at his watch.

“Now,” he said, “I will tell you, my young Bosnian patriot, why I sent for you.  Would you like to go back to your country, in the first place?”

“It is impossible!” Henriote declared bitterly, “I am exile.  I am forbidden to return under pain of death.”

Selingman opened his pocket-book, and, searching among his papers, produced a thin blue one which he opened and passed across the table.

“Read that,” he ordered shortly.

The young man obeyed.  A sudden exclamation broke from his lips.  A pink flush, which neither the wine nor the food had produced, burned in his cheeks.  He sat hunched up, leaning forward, his eyes devouring the paper.  When he had finished, he still gripped it.

“It is my pardon!” he cried.  “I may go back home—­back to Bosnia!”

“It is your free pardon,” Selingman replied, “but it is granted to you upon conditions.  Those conditions, I may say, are entirely for your country’s sake and are framed by those who feel exactly as you feel—­that Austrian rule for Bosnia is an injustice.”

“Go on,” the young man muttered.  “What am I to do?”

“You are a member,” Selingman went on, “of the extreme revolutionary party, a party pledged to stop at nothing, to drive your country’s enemies across her borders.  Very well, listen to me.  The pardon which you have there is granted to you without any promise having been asked for or given in return.  It is I alone who dictate terms to you.  Your country’s position, her wrongs, and the abuses of the present form of government, can only be brought before the notice of Europe in one way.  You are pledged to do that.  All that I require of you is that you keep your pledge.”

The young man half rose to his feet with excitement.

“Keep it!  Who is more anxious to keep it than I?  If Europe wants to know how we feel, she shall know!  We will proclaim the wrongs of our country so that England and Russia, France and Italy, shall hear and judge for themselves.  If you need deeds to rivet the attention of the world upon our sufferings, then there shall be deeds.  There shall—­”

He stopped short.  A look of despair crossed his face.

“But we have no money!” he exclaimed.  “We patriots are starving.  Our lands have been confiscated.  We have nothing.  I live over here Heaven knows how—­I, Sigismund Henriote, have toiled for my living with Polish Jews and the outcasts of Europe.”